


Fashion Statements

by kate_the_reader



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Character Study, Clothing, Gen, Suits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-06
Updated: 2015-11-06
Packaged: 2018-04-30 08:09:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5156486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kate_the_reader/pseuds/kate_the_reader
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Vain trifles as they seem, clothes have, they say, more important offices than to merely keep us warm. They change our view of the world and the world's view of us.” ― Virginia Woolf, <em>Orlando</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Fashion Statements

The first time Arthur — buttoned into a slim suit — met Eames, he was horrified.

By his pleated pants. By the color of his shirt — seriously, salmon? who would wear salmon, even ironically? By his hilarious old-fashioned shoes.

His hair, neatly parted, carefully combed, with just a hint of insouciance in the almost-not-there quiff, was easier to bear, thought Arthur. Why was he even sparing so much thought for this weirdly dressed man who didn't take him seriously?

Because Arthur knew clothes. He knew tailoring. He understood how to dress to make yourself appear more confident, more in control than you really felt. He knew how to pick a pocket square that spoke to your tie. Where to buy the best, crispest shirts (and where to get them properly laundered in cities all over the globe). He understood how taking off your jacket could distract a mark just enough so he (or she) revealed more than they had expected to. How rolling up your sleeves could push that even further.

And Arthur knew how to wear a shoulder holster under a suit so that the lines were not obvious to the casual observer (but he knew that you could never disguise them from the informed eye).  
Arthur knew clothes.

What Arthur didn't understand, when he first met Eames, was that Eames knew clothes too. He just knew them in a different way.

 

Because Eames knew vintage clothes. He knew where to find the best garments from another time. He knew which fabrics held up best over years (cotton sateen ages beautifully). He knew which fabrics and cuts and styles were most suitable for the tropical places he loved to spend his down time. He understood how clothes could send a message that would throw a mark off. How loud patterns and pleats and spectator shoes could make people dismiss their wearer as less than serious. How he could blend into the background when he needed to, just by wearing the same boring business attire everyone else was.

And for Eames the search was part of the pleasure he got from clothes. Poking around in little, sometimes malodorous, stores in back streets in cities all over the globe; hunting down the best designer labels in places like Peoria or Leamington Spa (there was always a single uncle whose clothes were consigned by bored relatives clearing closets after a death).

 

What Eames saw, when he first met Arthur, was a man who was a little more than a boy, but not one who knew as much as he thought about the power of presentation. He saw a man whose suits were tailored, but not quite as sharp as they could be, whose choices were a little conventional.

 

As he saw more of Eames, Arthur started to understand his clothes a little better. He started to see how the unusual cut of a shirt was a statement of personality (who else would have noticed and liked that odd little tab on the collar of a loose shirt?) Arthur started to notice garments he could imagine Eames wearing. Shirts made of gorgeous soft fabrics. In lush patterns. Jackets of silk tweed. Pants that fell just so from their pleats. Really, he shouldn't be spending so much time thinking about the wardrobe of this infuriatingly enigmatic colleague, who still seemed to take him less than seriously.

 

Eames also started to think more about a different sort of wardrobe. He started to notice how a subtly flamboyant tie drew the eye and led it up to the face. How witty socks could be hiding beneath perfect trouser cuffs that broke just so across shoes polished to a precise shine. How those socks could be displayed when their wearer tipped his chair back and held it in place with an outstretched foot. He started to notice shirts that weren't always white and crisp and perfect. How sometimes a leather jacket was preferred to tailoring.

And as he stood in front of his bathroom mirror, combing his hair into its almost-a-quiff, Eames thought about another hairstyle, carefully combed, neatly held in place by product. He really shouldn't be spending this much time thinking about how to disrupt that precisely arranged style. Or about the curls he sometimes saw emerge when the day was long or the air particularly sultry.

 

Arthur started to buy more daring patterns — he’d never really considered the merit of paisley. He started to seek out ties in brighter designs, socks with bolder stripes. He asked his tailor to cut his pants just that bit more snug, his jackets just that bit more close (this made wearing a shoulder holster rather more of a challenge). He considered fabrics more carefully than before. Silk tweed? That would make a lovely jacket to wear on an Italian job. Linen? So cool in Rio. Or Mombasa.

 

Eames too, started to shop differently. Pattern and color all the time? Maybe a bit of variety was needed. Black was also a color (and practical for travel). Perhaps the odd tie would be a good thing. Loose, Forties tailoring was very comfortable, but a closer cut did show off areas he spent a good deal of time perfecting. A sleeve rolled up just that bit higher would reveal personality he had never previously felt moved to show within the world of work.

 

****

Arthur has always looked. But now he’s looking at the parts not covered, at things revealed by not-clothes. How a neglected shave outlines a mouth. How an open collar shifts to display a dark promise. He runs his tongue along his straight American teeth. And imagines running it along other teeth. Less than even, that speak of a childhood in a country less obsessed with dental perfection. Of a childhood less regimented. Of an adulthood in countries where doing matters more than being a certain way.

And he thinks about how he can slide beneath the clothes, the flamboyant, witty clothes, to the promise that lies beneath.

Eames sees Arthur’s eyes, resting darkly on him. He sees the calculation and he thinks about revealing. And about discovering what lies beneath neat tailoring and very well starched shirts.

And finally, after they have only just survived inception; after that long insane flight has deposited them at LAX; after covert glances at the baggage carousel and fending off other offers of a shared cab into the city. Finally, after all the looking and imagining and understanding, the revealing and seeing and knowing can begin.


End file.
